20.10.20 Shake Ur Body

On the way home from work this evening, I was listening to Radio 2 and was surprised to hear Anita Rani on at 7.00pm, in place of Jo Whiley.  I never thought I'd confirm pleasure at this turn of events, but the avoidance of Jo's gasping faux excitement was a real bonus.  Unfortunately the play list was not up to much though.

WTF?

Shake Ur Body, by Shy FX & T Power, featuring Dianna Joseph was the first song played, and it was dreadful...... fucking dreadful...... cunting dreadful.  There was not the slightest whiff of merit, the slightest hint of creativity, or the slightest snippet of talent in this awful noise.

Dire indeed.  The lyrics were/are as crap as the general sound.  Overall this is a terrible waste of time.

I see ya standing on the corner of the dance floor
I see ya standing on the corner of the dance floor
I see ya standing on the corner of the dance floor
Dance floor(x20)

I see ya standing on the corner of the dance floor
And the way you look is oh so fine
But there's a problem coz that isn't what you came for
You ain't gonna get away tonight
So I'm gonna be the one to step to you get you in the mood just dance all night
Don't let suspicion, inhibitions get the better of you coz you know the mood is right
Shake you body uptown stomp your feet and spin around
Let the rhythm take control as the beat is takin over your soul
Let the rhythm take control as the beat is takin over your soul

I see ya standing on the corner of the dance floor
I see ya standing on the…

28.9.20 Minutiae - No Small Thing

This morning's Today Programme on Radio 4 included an interview with someone called Adrian Wootton from the British Film Commission.  It was, and remains, of no interest to me or most people, but I mention it now because of two words he included.  In reviewing steps relating to risk and Covid-19, he said people had:

"Gone into the granular minutae"

I have purposely spelled the last word incorrectly, based on the pronunciation.  Aside from me wondering what the fuck it is (granular minutiae) I was baffled by it being said as though spelled:

min-u-thai

So this tautological bollocks, incorrectly presented, was so annoying I just had to note it.  The standard of English and care is not up to much these days, and my despair is topped up relentlessly.  The drop in standards is no small thing.

...

28.9.20 Only Connect

The half-hour BBC2 quiz show, Only Connect, is most definitely the hardest quiz on TV, but it is also the hardest to watch.  This is due to Victoria Coren Mitchell being unwatchable, and yet trumping that quality by being totally unbearable to listen to.

Listen and cringe

It is simply the case that her attempts at humour are painful as fuck, and fail abysmally.  Her attempts at being smug and condescending are a complete success.  Likeability is not so much in short supply as non-existent.

...

26.9.20 Women's Cricket On BBC2

What a painful afternoon it was, watching the cricket on BBC2, England v West Indies.  However, far more of a challenge than watching the game was the absolutely nauseating commentary, provided by nattering twats.

Chatterbox

Cricket commentary has forever been an important element of the game, and the 'understated' approach has always been expected.  Sadly the T20 game I have just witnessed has abandoned any sense of that - and I have had to endure the ramblings and inane shite spouted by Isa Guha.  The quality of the commentary was of marginal interest at most, but the delivery, quantity and relevance of the input from her and her fellow contributors was dire.

Alex Hartley joined in, with a nasal tone that bored me to death, almost, and Jenny Gunn was hardly much better.  There were a couple of blokes whose names I cannot recall (one was Matt) who could have been dispensed with as well.  Someone at the end-of-match review called Henry interviewed Heather Knight, the England Captain, and managed to comment on England's "strength in depth".  It's good to know that pointless jargon and cliches are transferable to the women's game.  Michael Vaughan made a few 'encouraging' comments at the very end.

Isa managed to orchestrate an assault on the ears during the game, and I have decided I cannot watch more women's cricket.  The game itself was a tame affair, 'lame' you might say.  The televising of the game was some sort of landmark, and everyone was making a lot of it.  After the game, Isa was bobbing around, as though she needed a pee, and at one point turned to Alex and asked -

"How crucial is it that .....blah blah?" - she of course lost me at 'How crucial' as such a concept or quantification is ludicrous.

A final comment from me is the new word in the world of cricket - "batter".  Clearly the women cannot follow the convention of the men's game, where the ones who hit the ball are referred to as "batsmen".  The women seem to reject "batswomen" so we have now to call a woman with a wooden thing in her hand a "batter".

Nothing against women of course - I married one!  But even Mrs MWSC was squirming in her chair wishing to a non-existent God that I'd turn over to anything at all.  It's a sad day when anything on ITV Be is better than what you are watching.

...

26.9.20 Are Your Sure, Sir? Sage Advice

No doubt in seeing the heading, you pronounced the third word with a "sh" sound.  This is because that is exactly how the word is pronounced.  However, there is a growing trend to allow an unchallenged spread of this approach so that the sound is rapidly replacing the normal way of speaking,  I have little doubt that you pronounced 'Sir' rather differently - and correctly.

The advert for Sage.com on the television features an annoying bloke waffling on in a claimed poetic style, and in his monologue he hits us with 'Extraordinary', pronounced "Ek-shtraw-din-erry".  For further annoying he injects "Shtrong" instead of 'Strong'.  He is not alone, but he is the most annoying, as he has invaded my living room with his mispronunciation.

Extraordinary!  No Shit, Sherlock

Your advert, Sage, is endorsing this bollocks, so you are culpable.  Get it sorted, please.

Conshumer is another pet hate, and anyone who insists on this being correct is a cunt.  The list of bastardised words is growing quickly though.  Shtreet, shtupid, shtudent, dishtraction, and so many more.

...

19.9.20 Television Schedule

Last week's TV was as terrible as ever, with repeats at a sickening level.  Anyway, my general observations are as follows:

Saturday

Total Wipeout: Freddie & Paddy Takeover
This escapes being classified as a repeat, but it is; these two give a commentary on clips of past shows.  What a weak basis for a TV programme.

Jonathan Ross' Comedy Club
Anything with Ross is a awful - he's a horrible smug person who is not funny.

Jack The Giant Slayer
I did not watch this Channel 5 film, and so will never know if Jack was a rather large slayer of things and people, or if he was normal size and managed to slay a giant.   NB: The Sky Documentaries channel was showing Andre the Giant, at 7.20pm.  Maybe he was a victim of Jack.

Gok Wan's Easy Asian
This is not a proper title for a programme - it's missing a word!

William Shatner's Weird Or What?
I have nothing to add.

Sunday

The Real Housewives Of Orange County
The ITV Be trash is woeful indeed.  I have always considered that the programme tweak the words, to give The Orange Housewives Are Really Cunty.

Find It, Fix It, Flog It
This too could do with a tweak, with one more imperative - Fuck It.

Monday

The Dave channel has lost the fucking plot and weekdays seem to have been the victim of an executive's bit of fun.  The evening line-ups have been saturated with contributions from the same person.  The Monday 'game' was to overload us with Josh Widdicombe. He was on at:
6:00 Taskmaster
7:00 Dara O'Briain's Go 8 Bit
10:00 Have I Got A Bit More News For You
11:00 Big Zuu's Big Eats
Four appearances!

Tuesday

An appalling couple of food related offerings to note; here are the entries in my guide.

BBC1 8:00 Eat Well For Less?  Two siblings call for backup to help their mum and dad, who've been surviving on sweet treats, snacks and takeaways after a stressful year dealing with bereavement and caring for an elderly relative.  Gregg Wallace shows them how to make a satisfying meal from fresh ingredients without using ready made sauces, while Chris Bavin suggests healthy homemade alternatives to takeaways.  Just study this shite for a moment.  The basis for this programme is utter bollocks, and the uselessness of people to avoid eating crap is matched by the uselessness of the input from the presenters.  Also, why the fuck don't the two siblings fucking sort it themselves?

Channel 4 8:00 Food Unwrapped: Store Cupboard Staples.  Compilation of reports on store cupboard staples, including Kate Quilton taking a look at the secrets behind peanut butter's long shelf life, solving the mysteries of Marmite's famously divisive flavour, and discovering if it's safe to feed cats dog food and vice versa.  Jimmy Doherty travels to Sri Lanka to discover why lentils are sold split rather than whole, and Matt Tebbutt witnesses anchovy fishing off the coast of Italy.  Kate, get a fucking life and do something worthwhile.  Jimmy, just fucking google it.  Matt, was it abduction by the Mafia, and were you forced to witness this awful sight?  Muppet!

Channel 4 10:00 100 Vaginas.  Laura Dodsworth photographs and interviews 18 women, aged between 19 and 77, and asks them about how their vagina has shaped their lives.  First, Laura needs to find something productive to do with her own cunting life.  Second, I am left wondering if there is some sort of anti-Fibonacci Sequence going on (4,10,100,18,19,77).  Third, what the fuck is this link of lives being shaped by cunts?  Fourth, the grammar is wanting at the end, with muddled singular/plural approaches (rectified by changing 'vagina has' to 'vaginas have').

Dave chose Nish Kumar for Tuesday's overdose, with his (six) appearances, on:
7:00 Dara O'Briain's Go 8 Bit
8:00 Jon Richardson: Ultimate Worrier
9:00 Live At The Apollo
10:00 Hypothetical
11:00 Comedians Giving Lectures
12:20 Mock The Week

Wednesday

Dave opted for six doses of Lou Sanders, with these components:
6:00 Taskmaster
8:00 Taskmaster
9:00 Hypothetical
10:00 Hypothetical
11:00 Big Zuu's Big Eats
12:40 Alan Davies: As Yet Untitled

Thursday

It was the turn of Phil Wang - here we go with his six:
7:00 Dara O'Briain's Go 8 Bit
8:00 Jon Richardson: Ultimate Worrier
9:00 Hypothetical
10:00 Live At The Apollo
11:00 Big Zuu's Big Eats
11:40 Have I Got A Bit More News For You

Friday

Secret Scotland With Susan Calman
Sadly Susan has decided that instead of keeping things secret and herself off our screens, she has set off to give us 10 helpings of her annoying input.  Having wrecked the last series of Great British Menu she is dabbling with her own heritage and geography now.  One to avoid,

Dave pulled out all the stops and lined up SEVEN contributions featuring Sara Pascoe, she of very dubious humour, to wreck the Friday evening viewing:
6:00 Taskmaster
7:00 Dara O'Briain's Go 8 Bit
8:00 QI XL
9:00 Comedians Giving Lectures
9:40 Hypothetical
10:40 Live At The Apollo
11:40 Live At The Apollo: Christmas Special *

* It's cunting September!

...

9.9.20 Jo Whiley Gasps

My drive home from work allows me the option of encountering a Jo Whiley offering on Radio 2, if I want it.  I have to report I have come to the conclusion that irritations have removed the chance of listening to Radio 2 music from 7.02pm.

JW - Artificially short of breath, Mon-Fri

I cannot fathom the presenting style adopted by JW, which involves a gasp between almost every utterance.  The sharp intakes of breath are completely unnecessary.  I believe she feels there is some sort of excitement about her material and the eagerness of listeners to receive the gushing shite over the airwaves.  I have experienced zero 'excitement', zero 'intrigue' and total annoyance.  Can someone at the BBC tell her that she is not a reporter bringing urgent news to the masses, from a burning building.  The false urgency in the delivery of twaddle is ludicrous, and the desperation to deliver the details of what she will be playing, what's going on in her world, and why everything matters (when it doesn't) is perverse.

Take a deep breath, JW, and simply talk properly and steadily ...... please!

...

8.9.20 Dismal Driver Of The Day

This morning I witnessed a most obvious and blatant case of dangerous driving.  Three lanes turning into two (the fast lane ending/merging left) is not a place for a twat to overtake and play chicken in a diminishing space.

YD06 AEB

At approximately 85mph, the small car drove alongside a BMW as the fast lane ended.  I was behind, having pulled in to the middle lane as there was no way to get past the BMW before running out of road.  I witnessed the lunatic dicing with death, about a foot from the BMW and a foot from the central barrier as it squeezed past.  Absolutely mad.

At the roundabout with lights, a mile on, the car queued and I clocked the woman driver, and wondered what possessed her to risk her life and the lives of others.  Stupid cunt.

...

25.8.20 Lenny Henry Disaster

On Radio 4 this evening, at 6.30pm, the BBC aired an horrendous slice of purported entertainment.  In fact, it was lined up as 'comedy' but it was so far from funny that I'd label it cringeworthy.

Awful

The Lenny Henry Show was on the radio not because of a single shred of value, but because it was Lenny Henry doing it.  What a sad day indeed when 'merit' is ignored, and personality is deemed enough by the CIC* to allow such a colossal pile of shit to be shared amongst the population.  Talk about stereo-typical sketches and characters, and a complete obsession by LH with being black, and forcing listeners to wonder what on earth he was going on about.  His characterisations were appalling and unfunny.  Apparently he is back next week, Tuesday 6.30pm.  I will be finding a brick wall to drive at, in preference to this utter crap.  I challenge you to listen to it online, and not conclude like me that this is as bad as it gets.

*CIC = Cunts In Charge)
...

21.8.20 Uptick My Arse!

There is a growing and very annoying rise in the use of the term "uptick" by people who think they are being clever or interesting through use of this shit term.  It seems to have crept into the UK from the USA, and it is an unwelcome visitor to be sure.  If there has been "a slight rise" in something, then that is what has occurred, and there is no fucking need to rephrase as "an uptick".

This morning on Radio 4, Sarah Smith used it regarding the number of Covid-19 cases recorded in Croatia.  Cases have risen, yes, although the definition of 'uptick' being a 'slight rise' is hardly appropriate when the increase in cases of positive tests was significant - from 10 per 100k people to 27 per 100k people.  That is more than a cunting uptick, it's a 170% increase!  The 'tick' element is not helpful, what with its positive connotations.

So overall, I would suggest that "uptick" is a pretentious, twattish, tossy term, and it certainly should not become part of daily twaddle and misused like "epicentre" by just about every fucker in journalism.  As for the comment this morning, I would say that it was an "upfuck", Sarah!

...

21.8.2020 The Top Of Your Lungs?

"Singing along at the top of your lungs" said the woman on the advert for the V Festival, sponsored by Virgin Media.  I understand singing at the top of my voice, but I am struggling to comprehend the concept of the top of my lungs being relevant.

...

18.8.20 Thanks, Martha

On Radio 4 this morning, Martha Kearney was in discussion with a guest and in commenting on the size of something, had to introduce an element of scale.

"So about half the size of an A5 sheet then" was her utterance.  That is an A6 sheet, Martha; the paper sizes follow a logic, which is more than your own approach.  Why pick A5 and then halve it?

Thanks.

...

13.8.20 How Not To Buy A Cunting Oven

The simple comment/answer to this is.............. try to buy from Currys PC World.

One might be forgiven for thinking this large company can get its act together sufficiently well to see a fucking oven.  Alas, I could not succeed in this task, and I was forced to abandon the purchase of a fan-assisted oven.  I 'fannied about' for a while on laptop and phone, trying to gain some input that might be mildly useful.

My existing inbuilt oven has ceased working, and as I bought it from CPCW I thought I'd get the same one.  Pleasantly surprised to find it available, in stock and at the same price, I was all for clicking and paying and collecting tomorrow - as presented to me as the option (delivery not available).  My roast pork dinner tomorrow was assured.

Well, my roast dinner is definitely assured, thanks to Argos/Sainsbury's, and no thanks to CPCW. The heading for this post might equally be written as "How To Not Buy An Oven" as long as you can tolerate a split infinitive; I believe it is justified insofar as "Not Buy" is acting as the verb.  Both interpretations/statements lead to the same thing - no cuntin oven.

I thought I would call the store, but the main number given was not for the store, but a generic message service.  A second number yielded the same fucking thing.  I tried to buy over the phone, pressing option fuck-knows-what-number, and it directed me back to the website.

At my laptop, I thought I'd try Webchat.  This served to rile me further, with a 'Virtual' assistant and this was not virtually anything but useless.  It could not cope with a question at all.  A generic picture of an operator with CUNT tattooed on his/her forehead would have been apt.  Whoever programmed this facility must have had an IQ of about fifty.

Back to the website, and a search for any fucking availability of the oven.

I put in a postcode and store, and the message appeared about nothing available in the nine nearest stores.  I clicked for a further afield search, and after 18, 27 and then 36 stores, fuck all.  So it is cunting out of stock then!  I know this because I entered Birmingham and other locations, and established no availability.  The brand of the intended purchase was Logik.  There was no logic to this fucking online system for buying anything.

Sort yourselves out, you people in charge of CPCW!

...

12.8.20 Curly Wurly Concerns

Something is going on at Cadbury.  Tampering has begun, after many years of stability in Curly Wurly world.  Until now, the standard until of measurement has been 26g.  That's right, 26g has been the weight of a Curly Wurly for as long as I can remember.  I appreciate this is hardly a nice round number, but that aside, the stability was something I was able to appreciate.

Multi-packs have been sold for many years; five in a packet, commonly available at £1.25 or, when on offer, £1.00.  Yesterday in Asda, I was flabbergasted after clocking the new multi-pack, which announced it contained six bars.

I was pleased that there were now 6, for one pound, but was immediately suspicious, expecting there to be foul play involved.  There had to be a catch, so I checked the weights, convinced that there would be some tampering, to reduce the size/weight of the sacred Curly Wurly.  I was correct; no longer was 26g the standard - instead they were 21.5g each.

On what cunting planet is 21.5g a sensible portion size?  Who the cunting fuck at Cadbury decided that it was time, arbitrarily, to piss about with a Curly Wurly?  The CIC* are clearly bored as fuck and thought they would mix it up a bit.

I actually think this is little more than phase one of a plan to fuck the consumer, as ever.  The 5-pack of 26g CWs totalled 130g, and this reconfiguration reduces the weight by a single gramme.  It does nothing to reduce the plastic wrapping, though, as one extra wrapper is now having to be disposed of.

It is only a matter of time before the 6-pack reverts to a 5-pack and the CIC have wangled a net 22.5g reduction in goods for no reduction in price.  That would mean a 17.3% reduction in weight for the same sale price, or an effective 20.9% increase in price.  This is my prediction - let's see how long it takes to come true.

* Cunts In Charge

...

10.2.20 Awful Utterances

I have collected some more examples of pathetic English, grammar and fuckwittery.  Yes, that last word is made up, but considering what so many cunts get away with, I feel I have the right to create a decent way of referring to the culprits.

At this present in time - Dione Dublin

MI5 have published its own version .... Evan Davis R4

It's interesting to note the words choosed - John Sopel

You have to execute accurately - Rugby pundit

When they got the ball they really utilised it - Pundit Kathy (Women's Rugby)

In and around his feet - Alan Shearer (in his feet ??)

In and around the keeper - Martin Keown (in the keeper ??)

You deserve to be in the later half of this competition - Ashley Banjo (meaning latter)

Temperatures still mild - BBC weather .... weather can be mild, but not temperatures

With the wind direction coming from the North East - Louise Lear (the wind comes from the North East, not the wind direction, Louise)

With a cold wind sinking its way in - Lucy Verasamy

The odd bit or piece of rain - BBC1 weather

The costs of wages and rents are cheaper - total claptrap

One of these have got to get it - Stephen Mulhern

The garden is entering into the house - Monty Don

Game over, to all extents and purposes - Chris Sculley (meaning "intents")

Cematoriums - John Irvine ITV News, utterly failing to say "crematoria"

Ausvitch - John Irvine, twice unable to pronounce where he was on ITV News - WTF?

Swindon have retook the lead - Sohail Sahi on BBC1 Final Score

It's very difficult when a child kills themselves - unattributed

Ainsley Harriott's Special Menu

It takes between 10 and 15 years for a tree to bear their fruit

I'm gonna season that up

Just sauteing those off

They're cooking down beautifully

As soon as that starts to melt down (butter in a pan)

It's going to reduce down - let that bubble down

You can see that's reduced right down now

...

25.7.20 A Place In The Sun - Pointless Prats

The usual formulaic approach was presented today, with two people looking for a place in Oliva in Spain.  Their budget was £80,000.  We plodded through the dissatisfaction shared during the viewings of four properties, at which point to bloke decides he is not going to get what he wants at that price, and suddenly the budget becomes £100,000.  So for the final property, the chances of getting them what they wanted were increased nicely.  Why on earth the budget was not £100k in the first place I don't know.  Anyway, it mattered not, because the fifth and final property was seemingly of great interest.  In fact, it was the only one which brought some smiles, and at the review chat afterwards, I learned that they were going to put in an offer.  This was a town house, less than five minutes walk from the central square, with three bedrooms, two living rooms, two decent bathrooms and a massive roof terrace with great views, including the town rooftops and the church.

This pair had taken advantage of the Channel 4 input, to try and help them find something to meet their brief, and after the budget adjustment, this was completely achieved.  So well done, A Place In The Sun.

Oh dear.  I had not warmed to the bloke at all, and should have known that it was all a fucking cunting waste of everyone's time.  I put this down to him, simply because she would be guided by whatever he said - this stood out a mile.  Anyway, having declined four properties, and agreeing to add £20k to the budget, the offer for this perfect match was............... £80,000.  This was the fucking budget they started with!  What was the cunting point of adding £20k and then taking the piss out of everyone - the property owners, Channel 4 and the viewers?

The owners rejected the offer and said the lowest they would accept is £87,000.  That is reasonable, I'd say.  However, it seems that the two perfectly good bathrooms were not to taste and would apparently need replacing, and there were some railings he wanted on the roof terrace (why, I don't fucking know) and there was a 'bit of decorating to do'.  I am telling you, there was fuck all needed and the property was fine all round.  So what response was there to the seller's suggested price?  A revised, FINAL offer of £82,000.  It was rejected, and I had willed the seller to reject these complete prats.

What bollocks!  Stay at fucking home, people, if you are on a time-wasting visit to Spain with no intention of buying if the perfect fit property is found, well within your cunting budget!

...

13.5.20 Boris Isn't Winston

Not Winston

Yes, it has made its way
Here, and it's here to stay
The horrid ministrations are
Unwelcome and unkind
So, with a heavy heart
Tired, scared and pulled apart
I see the door that stands ajar
but not what sits behind.

Now, as we all review
Life, what are we to do?
The losses all around us are
So frightening and real
Stay, home and sit it out
Hold, tight as all about
Are wishing on a lucky star
Not sure of what to feel.

Cough, yes my throat is dry
Aches, some, I can't deny
And yes my chest is second best
With breathing not too great
Peace, stolen, given wings
Mind, it's on many things
I'm twisted and so much obsessed
My thinking isn't straight.

Or, is it on the mark?
Clear, in a world so dark?
Is holding on while so distressed
A pointless bitter sweet?
Warm, bodies turning cold
Lies, polished, kissed and told
A population unimpressed
With bluster and deceit.

We, see the UK fail
Lies, on a massive scale
A travesty, incompetence
And lives, so many lost
Why, are we so misled?
Spin, Tory blue not red
Delivered with indifference
To awful human cost.

Clap, for the NHS
Mad, Boris claims success
While giving no acknowledgements
That he is so to blame
Time, squandered at the start
Now, heartbreaks of the chart
Despite outrageous negligence
There is no Tory shame.

Gove, Sunak, Raab, Patel
News, briefings with a smell
Of Cummings and a dirty hand
And government conceit
Matt, Hancock shows his face
Proves, he's a waste of space
And no one seems to understand
the level of deceit.

Now, as the lock-down bites
Some, seem to think their rights
Allow them all to make a stand
And party in the street
Still, short of PPE
Staff, plead and all agree
That needless going out is banned
And yet they fear defeat.

Why, is the UK fucked?
So, many questions ducked
The testing's been an utter farce
Incompetence prevails
Now, as the virus spreads
World, leaders shake their heads
At Britain on its stupid arse
A coffin wanting nails.

Jobs, gone or on the line
Stress, levels won't decline
Who loses most? The working class
The people poorly paid
More deaths than wildest fears
Clear lies that no one hears
Integrity is so, so sparse
As Tory claims are made.

Still, Brexit rumbles on
Deal? Hope is almost gone
The UK's utter madness seems
Like suicide to me
Hell, bent on further harm
No, hint of any qualm
Without a care the PM schemes
To leave us all at sea.

Now, on the tenth of May
Proof, sense is thrown away
As Boris shares deluded dreams
Revealing all his flaws
Still, risks at every turn
Yet, with no true concern
He beckons grief and further screams
While science he ignores.

Yes, we are in a mess
No, Boris won't confess
To bringing Britain to its knees
Not leading from the front
Why, does he think he's great?
Please, someone, tell him straight
He isn't Winston Churchill, he's
A sneaky, lying cunt.


10th May 2020 ***

12.4.20 Online Groceries? No Chance!

Online food shopping is a real challenge.  Having never done this before, I was not too sure what to expect.  I started with Iceland, but this led to zero progress as the delivery options stated 'fully booked'.  Oh well, Asda, then?

Asda was a frustration and I seemed to have to shop first, which I did.  My 38 items for £91 sits in the basket (metaphorically of course) and there is zero opportunity to have a delivery or a click and collect time to get my hands on it in the next seven days.  Oh well.

I thought I'd have a look at Morrisons.  This turned out to be even more puzzling; I found the link for online shopping, but within a second of clicking found myself in some sort of holding zone.

Yes, that's correct, I would have to wait for almost 12,000 people to go first.  Now, I have heard of queues but this is madness indeed.  Whatever I was expecting (not much) I was unprepared for this last nudge in the goolies.

...

4.4.20 A Changed World

Earlier this year, I was pleased to have had a visit from my niece one weekend - Friday afternoon to Sunday.  I dropped her off at the bus station on Sunday in time for the National Express vehicle to take her a couple of hundred miles.  This necessitate a short drive into town, and I of course walked her to the terminal to wave her off.  This little excursion for me raised some issues - not for her, but for me.

The location of the bus station meant a need to park, and so I made use of a Sainsbury's car park, and my niece had time to nip in and get a drink for the journey.  On the way home, soon after, I recalled a number of elements in my efforts to see her off, that made little sense, and highlighted the massive differences in the world, compared to when I was her age.

1. The need to park at all.  There is no drop off facility at all; in the old days, it was always possible to simply drop someone off, be that at a bus station, train station or even airport.  These days, even access to the road closest to the relevant place is restricted, and unless you are driving a taxi, there's a fine looming.
2. Sainsbury's was open.  When I was my niece's age, there was no such thing as a supermarket being open for business on a Sunday.
3. The car park was a pay and display.  Yes, the first fifteen minutes was free but then it was chargeable.  Having to pay for parking in a Sainsbury's is certainly a massive change from my twenties, when no such arrangement would have been considered.
4. Water.  We entered the shop and she picked up a bottle of water - Evian - and took it to the checkouts. It is so sad that water is even for sale; this was only just becoming a 'thing' in my day, and only Perrier was knocking around.
5. The cost.  It would have freaked me out back then to know that someone would pay £1 for a small bottle of water.
6. Favourite.  My niece declared that Evian is her "favourite" water.  How on earth did such a view ever need to come about?
7. Self service.  The checkout was actually a self-service scanning point.  Again, such a change, and I could never have imagined this when I was her age.
8. Card payment.  Perhaps rather more of a shock would have been that a card could be used to pay for a purchase of just £1.00 - and not even that!  The fact that it could be contactless!
9. Mobile.  Even more mind-blowing would have been the thought that nothing would be needed other than the wave of a hand holding a mobile phone, although when I was her age, mobile phones did not exist, let alone purport to be 'smart'.
10. Bags.  Not that one was really needed, but bags being chargeable was something I could not have imagined either.

So much is different now.  All those years ago, life was so much simpler.  Now it's all a bit mad, and the levels of progress (if that's what it's called) are really quite amazing.  How could I ever have foreseen: that I would have to find somewhere to park, that it would be pay and display, in a Sainsbury's that was open, that we'd need a bottle of water, that it might be classed as "favourite", that it would be a pound, that paying would be self service, that payment would be by a phone, and that a bag if needed would cost money.  Blimey.

...

29.3.20 Lockdown Adverts

I am somewhat baffled by certain companies whose advertising policies seem to be relentlessly static amidst the Covid-19 situation.  I have just been touted a mortgage from Barclays, at a time when the housing market and people's finances are basically fucked beyond all recognition.  Further, the Government advice is that house sales and moves should be suspended.  'No one should complete' says the Government.  Sorry, Barclays, you just wasted your money and annoyed anyone hoping to move but affected by obvious restrictions.

Then Thornton's decided I might need to be convinced that giving someone one of their Easter Eggs might be the best approach at Easter.  What the cunting fuck?

...

20.3.20 DPD Local Loony

I have for some time made occasional notes about drivers who are a real pest, or whose actions are bad enough for an award of "Cunt of the Day".  This morning, I was hassled by a DPD van, and the mission for the day for the driver was clearly to zoom past/around anyone not going fast enough.

ND68 UHS

Tailgating, hassling and lane hopping are not really doing much for the brand, Mr Driver.  Also, I think that on a dual carriageway, 90mph is not allowed.

...

15.3.20 Noodle-Gate

Never did I think that small packets of noodles at 22p cunting pence each would be the cause of consternation.  But today, in my sixth decade on this planet, I have been put in my place by an Aldi checkout operator, for overstepping the mark.  Yes, I dared to purchase six packets of noodles, inviting a commercial transaction to the value of £1.32. 

The world is in financial and medical turmoil, and the consequences for the global system are dire at best.  But in my small corner of Yorkshire, the real issue is clearly the over-expectancy of yours truly in acquiring enough fucking noodles to support two meals rather than one!

There are three of us in the mix, for food preparation at Cunt Towers, the home of myself, Mrs MWSC, Junior and a dog who does not eat noodles.  This is not to ignore my other son and his partner, but they are 'self-sufficient' so I am not the "noodle whisperer" for them.

So back to my trip to Aldi, where I could not of course buy any loo roll.  I was not aiming to stock-pile, but a few roles would not have gone amiss, as I am down to the last pack.  The 100g packets of noodles were in plentiful supply, unlike pasta, that was nowhere to be seen.  I happened to pick up six packets of the stuff, and opted for 'chicken' flavour rather then mixing it up with, perhaps, beef.  The only differentiation is of course the small sachet of seasoning contained within the packets.

My mistake was perhaps to have opted for the chicken variety, as this blocked my 'defence' at the checkout, that the items were not the same.  It seems there was a policy in force that limited the bulk-buying bent of the cunting population, such that only 4 of any one item was permitted for purchase.  So when I found myself at the checkout, for my £28 worth of shite, I was vetted and limited by the woman in charge.  "I can only sell you four of these" was a limp fucking comment,. but one which was delivered with a certain sense of authority, glee and definitiveness that matched her forthright manner.  It is worth noting that multi-packs of noodles are not available.  So, these 22p items are sold individually, rather than in multi-packs.  How lucky for the buying public that loo rolls are available in packs of 9, 12, 16 and 24, with each counting as a single item.  So that means a single shopper could buy 96 cunting toilet rolls at typically 30p each, while I was fucked over for those extra two noodle packs at 22p each.  What a load of cunting shit!

...

13.3.20 Cushelle Advert

The world is in the grip of the Covid-19 virus, and panic buying has seen the shelves being emptied at supermarkets across the UK.  It is now a real challenge to locate any dried pasta, and an impossibility to find toilet rolls.  So, it was a surprise a few minutes ago to see an advert on the TV for Cushelle.  Why the cunting fuck is this company advertising.  No one gives a shit (forgive the ironic use of the term) what brand of paper they use - people at the moment will be glad of anything at all, so this is money wasted by Cushelle.  The chance of fucking obtaining some would be rather good, thanks!

...

12.3.20 Plant-Based Fodder

Plant Based Pollution

What the fuck has happened?  The annoying food preferences of some people have been made even more annoying by the change in language.  Once upon a time, there were vegetarians.  They were generally just below the radar, and they avoided meat.  Unfortunately, these were deemed lightweights by some of their own ranks, who decided to up the ante and go hardcore.

Yes, vegetarians started to be looked down upon .... by vegans.  With an air of dismissiveness, this new breed of self-righteous eaters set about telling the world about their preferences and mission in life.  The poor old vegetarians had to make a choice - shuffle off to the shadows, outdone by those whose eating rules were stricter, or join them in the campaign to be different.

These days, there are few vegetarians, and more vegans - who tell you what they are and expect the world to service them.  Now we have a further level of grief - the use of 'plant-based' as the defining phrase to describe their bent.

I am happy with meat-based food.  I like vegetable, and am thus omnivorous.  I have nothing against people with a desire to avoid meat - I just wish the whole mission did not have to adopt this pathetic term 'plant-based' which is now polluting the language.

...

11.3.20 Sport Relief

I managed to catch a few minutes of this evening's BBC1 offering, The Heat Is On: Sport Relief.  I cringed at the self-indulgence / self-obsession of some participants.  A four-day charity challenge involved various 'celebrities' (as ever) crossing the rather hot desert in Namibia.  I watched the screen incredulous at the variation in the attitudes and abilities of the people involved.

On the one hand, Rob Rinder was running along, completing the task, while Frankie Bridge was moaning like fuck, and whining about her issues.  Why on earth, then, was she in a fucking desert and struggling.  Grimshaw was fine, in fact the blokes just got on with things, whereas the women were mostly annoying.  It's no good volunteering for prime time TV exposure, and then seeking sympathy for your plight.

The "raising money for charity" angle that these people cling on to, is of questionable value.  I fail to see how their efforts walking in the desert are in any way relevant to my desire or lack of desire to donate some money to Sport Relief.

There were some good bits, seeing Karim complete a stage, but the whingers are not any basis for donating money on a phone line.  Those who want to contribute will do so, regardless of the stuff done on screen by a rabble of people claiming to be doing something for charity.  Rather, this was a free trip / holiday / experience, and they should remember that.

There is a fine line between the so called "raising awareness", and nauseating exposure to people preaching shite, while getting a freebie. 

...

8.3.20 The Great and The Greatest

My interpretation of the TV Guide is not one that suits all, but the niggles and annoyances contained in the week's viewing schedule are fucking numerous.  Perhaps one of the most noticeable cunting one is the misplaced belief that the words 'Great' and 'Greatest' enhance in any fucking way the content of programmes.  I offer the following as an aside to my normal overview of the week.

The Greatest Dancer
BBC1 has been running this for a while, and there are so many entrants who are simply a long way short of great.  As with all these shows, I am baffled by contestants who appear together, making the name of the show a farce.  This is particularly true of The Voice, because quite often I am hearing voices .... not linked to any mental condition, but duos and trios appearing on THE Voice.  In the dancing arena, a double act confirms it's not about finding the 'greatest' dancer.

Great American Railroad Journeys
Michael Portillo flouncing and pissing about on trains again.  The BBC2 schedules would be lost without him and his colour-coded clothing.

The Great Pottery Throw Down
I am a long way from 'fired up' about this filler of a programme.  Apparently, this week, the four remaining amateur potters are "facing their biggest challenge of the competition so far as they're asked to create a fully functioning toilet".  What shit.

The Great Interior Design Challenge
More twaddle on Two, as the BBC repeats a whole hour of pointlessness into our Monday evening.

Great British Railway Journeys
Straight after the interior design crap, BBC2 has lined up an extra dose of Michael Portillo, as Portillo's State Secrets eats up half an hour.  Then, after he's had a break for 75 minutes, Portillo returns to the screen with his guide book and railway fodder for us to consume.

HMS Victory: Nelson's Great Warship
This gets a mention simply for the use of 'great', but in the main, I can understand this is not an example of the gratuitous use of the term, so let's leave it there.

Terry and Mason's Great Food Trip
I have nothing to say about this, other than "BBC2, get past this great cunting obsession with using the word 'great' in your naming strategy."

Celebs For Sale: The Great Charity Scandal: Dispatches
With two colons in the title, I am already fuming.

The Great Celebrity Bake Off For Stand Up To Cancer
More from Sandi Tossing and Noel Fiddling in a big tent.

You get the message.

...

8.3.20 TV Guidance

I thought I would offer some guidance on the week's offerings, just to help you navigate your way through the shit.  'Navigate' is appropriate as the journeying of alleged celebrities is good place to start.

Celebrity Britain By Barge: Then And Now
What the fucking fuck? Bill Oddie, Jennie Bond, Anne Diamond and Pete Waterman on a barge for 80 minutes of supposed entertainment.  Navigate away from this.

Grand Tours Of Scotland's Lochs
Paul Merton now turning his attention to the UK (while Scotland is still part of it) having finished moping around India or wherever he was last time, in a linen suit.  I am no fan at all of the word 'Great' in programme names, but I am slightly unnerved at 'Grand' in case this becomes a trend, building on Grand Designs.

Extreme Wales With Richard Parks
He's exploring the River Teifi and Kayaking, if you're interested.

Dom Does America
Sadly this is a very long way short of Debbie Does Dallas, and we are instead served Dominic Littlewood sampling life on a cattle ranch in Texas.

Joanna Lumley's Hidden Caribbean: Havana To Haiti
The breathy and gushing, grinning Lumley is on another free trip, adding little value to anyone's awareness.  She is so hard to put up with on screen, and affected as fuck in her delivery of any information.  I'd prefer a programme that used just the first three words, actually.

Secrets Of First Class With Sally And Nigel
Nigel Havers and Sally Lindsay add to carbon emissions, flying around and telling us about it. Fuck off with that!

enough on well known people moving around, let's have a look at some of the other low lights of the week, perhaps with a quick-fire approach.

ITV - The Trouble With Maggie Cole
Is that she's on our cunting screen.  No, Dawn, move along, please!

Channel 4 - Five Guys A Week
Dating show, plummeting the depths, as ever.

Channel 5 - Britain's Naughtiest Nursery
Spoilt totally by the last two letters of the title.

ITV - Tipping Point: Best Ever Finals
"Compilation of some of the most dramatic endgames."  What the cunting fuck?

Fucking food etc:
Living On The Veg
Beat The Chef
Come Dine With Me
Cooking Up A Fortune
MasterChef
Lorraine's Fast, Fresh and Easy Food [better without the last word]
The Hairy Bikers' Comfort Food
Saturday Kitchen Best Bites
Ready Steady Cook
Saturday Kitchen
James Martin's Saturday Morning
Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares USA
James Martin's French Adventure
Terry And Mason's Great Food Trip
Best Home Cook
Food Unwrapped
The Great Celebrity Bake Off
Rick Stein's Secret France

...

29.2.20 Mastermind or Twat Head

What the cunting fuck?  I have just witnessed a complete disaster of a programme aired at peak time on BBC1.  John Humphrys (as ever waffling with overlong questions) was a nauseating twat.  The contestants were actually nothing of the fucking sort!  There was one 'celebrity' - Ade Edmondson - who conducted himself well, and knew more than the rest by a cunting kilometre.

Gareth Thomas   5 points
Yung Filly   4 points
Serena Guthrie   5 points
Ade Edmondson   16 points

What a cunt of a waste of fucking time!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Change the name of this cunt from Mastermind to Twat Head

...

29.2.20 The Twats of Sussex

Apparently the annual bill for providing security for the two self-serving Twats of Sussex could rise to £20m.  Twenty fucking million pounds - PER YEAR!  Sorry, but this is outrageous.  Their choice to disengage with the Royal establishment should not mean that tax-payers in the UK and Canada should have to foot the bill as the rabble runs around the globe.  The ToS are a perfect example of how to be entitled, selfish and cuntish.

We're Fucking Off

The 'transition' they are now embarked on is attention seeking at its worst.  As for the Royal titles, it seems they are retaining them but not actively using them.  Talk about wanting your cake and eating it.  They have no business even retaining the HRH titles, even if they do claim they will not actively use them.  That's like promising something but having your fingers crossed behind your back.

If he is apparently saying, "Just call me Harry" then why is the HRH retained?

I was always sure that Meghan would steer things, and she has from a young age declared an interest in bagging a prince.  Like any celebrity, get your bloke, get a ring, get a baby, then get your own way - or split up.  This is simply Cheryl Fernandez-Versini-Tweedy-Cole and Liam Payne, mirrored one level up.  If Harry is dumb enough to be pulled along by his dick, then more fool him, and no sympathy.  I expect they will split up at some point.

PS: Why the fuck have I seen a woman curtsying while shaking hands with MM?

...

23.2.20 Meghan Markle Madness

Did anyone else believe that Meghan Markle was the kiss of death to the Royal Family when she appeared on the scene?  I suspect a great many did in fact view things that way, and as was always likely to be so, she has succeeded in fucking up the monarchy while glibly smiling her way to the disruptive outcome.

Self-serving ..... thus, Wankers

Harry and Meghan and simply being cuntish in their plans to 'go it alone', and brand themselves as some sort of super duo.  This pair of disrespectful twats are not worthy of any attention, let alone adulation.  I fear, however, that this fucked up world will provide them with a source of income at every turn, and allow them to continue with their deplorable self-serving shit-fest, and garner support from stupid people - and of course, rich people.

The Queen has every right to be fucked off.  Prince Charles should acknowledge that his son is a twat, and in sequence, rather a cunt as well.  Sadly, this pair of fuckwits will almost certainly carve out an existence, and a lucrative living by being who they are, and certainly not for contributing anything of value.  Dressing up their joint input under umbrellas of 'conservation', 'charity', and 'altruism' is pathetic, and so lacking in integrity.  These two have trumped the pathetic fuckwittery and money-grabbing that's been displayed for so many years by the 'Yorks' - Eugenie and Beatrice.... along with the sex-offender-friend Andrew, and the lead protagonist in the mercenary stakes, Sarah Ferguson.

Harry is being misled, but that does not excuse him in the least.  If he is this stupid and thoughtless, then he deserves to be diminished in the opinions of just about every UK citizen, and his judgement is clearly FUBAR.

...

23.2.20 A Vile Person Indeed

There's no beating about the bush here.  I am quite clear on the situation, thank you.  Sometimes there is little need to elaborate on things, and this is one such situation, where the target of my attentions is indeed a cunt and a fucking half.  Yes, there can surely be no doubt amongst rational people that there is now a level of complete cuntism that is in play, within the UK government.  But I have not yet said whom I am talking about.

Could it be Boris, Cummings, Rees-Mogg, Gove? 

If one single image could sum up the horrendous situation that the UK is now in, it's the one above.  Yes, Boris Johnson is a liar and a self-serving fuckwit, with disingenuous approaches to just about everything that needs attention and input.  Yet, my dislike of any individual is fuelled rather more by the Home Secretary, for whom the four-letter term could be no better employed. 

Is 'VILE' the word I am talking about?  Perhaps instead it's 'CUNT'........ I will leave you to consider what you think might be the most appropriate term to apply.

...

23.2.20 Sonic

Sonic The Hedgehog - The Movie

What the cunting fuck?  Why?  How?  What?

The world is a mess - Sonic, Lego, what next?

...

22.2.20 HIV Impediment

Can you say it properly?

On the radio a few days ago, I heard from a young chap who was talking about having HIV.  Clearly this changed his life in many ways, but with drugs, he was explaining how he manages the condition.  Sadly, there was no drug to take for the other element in play - his inability to pronounce his condition.  "Haitch" is not a letter, and so he is in the difficult position of being unable to discuss properly the very condition he was on air to talk about.  Perhaps the drug companies will come up with an effective drug in the coming years, but until then, everyone will have to take precautions.  Sufferers should practise abstinence on public speaking, while listeners should protect themselves by switching off at the very first sign of mispronunciation.

...

16.2.20 Trouble With Trailers

Enough is enough, I'd like to say, but ITV takes the opposite view, and so relentlessly drowns us in shit trailers for its shows.  It does so for many weeks ahead of any programme actually being aired, such that any minuscule notion that one of the programmes might be watchable is removed and a layer of frustration and resentments enshrouds me.

This evening, I have been tainted severely through the constant diet of trailers for the following:

Saturday Night Takeaway
Harry Redknapp's Sandbanks Summer
Belgravia
The Trouble with Maggie Cole

The multiple exposure I have suffered in just a single evening has altered my DNA such that I am not possessed by a demon with an urge to smash the TV.  Is there anyone left in the UK who does not know who Ant & Dec are?  Or people who have not heard of Saturday Night Takeaway?  So why the two dozen trailers per day?  Then we have Harry Redknapp shouting at someone on the beach, again and again and again.  Belgravia is not even on until March (no date specified) so we have a minimum of two more weeks being abused.  The same applies in respect of the Dawn French shit that's lumbering its way towards us..... some time in fucking March!  I also want to know why ITV has decided that the "W" in the programme's title is lower case.

Arseholes

Aside from trailers for individual programmes, there's the compilation trailer that is set against a pretentious "poem" that gets under the skin and burns like acid

ITV New Drama for 2020 Drama

This is just so that ITV can spout self-complimentary twaddle.  All of the above is relevant in my own avoidance of Mr Selfridge, a programme that I simply could not actually watch because of the
previous weeks' torture by trailers.

...

16.2.20 Final Score

I settled down to watch Final Score yesterday, interested (to some small degree) in the outcomes of the football matches across the country.  The format has not changed for ages, although the composition of the contributors has certainly swung towards many more female voices.  Match reporters were actually more female than male.  This is most certainly not an issue at all, so before anyone gets "cunting offended" for no good reason, chill out and hear me out.  There should be no difference between the abilities of men and women when it comes to reporting on a game of football.  However, there unfortunately is, as evidenced by yesterday's contributions.  The problem was simple - the delivery of the information was to a large degree 'manic squawking and shrieking'.  Whilst in the past, Robyn Cowen has been the prime offender, head and shoulders above the others, she was trumped yesterday by Vicki Sparks, whose frantic wailing and hyper-tension was overwhelming.

Too Much Spark & Squawk

Robyn was her usual self, that is, I was unable to listen to her with anything other than a sense of torture.  Emma Saunders was this week rather hyped up and challenging.  With those three having set the scene, it was fairly easy to hear others and lump them into the same category.  Katie Shanahan, calm down, please.  Eilidh Barbour and Connie McLaughlin, plus Jacqui Oatley - beware and be careful.

In summary, I am all for sensible input and female voices in football.  The content is not the issue, it's the cunting delivery.

...

15.2.20 The Masked Singer Revised

The format for this show is fatally flawed, although it was already fucked beyond belief, before a single note was sung, because the host is a disaster.  Joel Dommett is quite simply fucking nauseating to listen to.  His nasal warbling and pathetic intonation drives me mad, and who the cunting fuck gave him this gig?

Apparently he's a comedian - with a voice like that, he instills ire rather than humour.  I think he needs to go head-to-head with Rochelle Humes, for a voice that grates; he would win, of course.

The programme encourages awful input from the judges.  Ken Jeong is under the weird impression that he is amusing.  Sorry, Ken, but the only funny thing is that you think so!  With his one joke (about knowing "exactly who it is") wore thin in the first programme, but he continued with it all series.  A prize wanker indeed.

Anyway, Jonathan Woss is so full of himself, he's obese.  Davina McCall somehow has come to think of herself as someone who even counts, and her chanting and faux enthusiasm was shite.  Rita Ora thinks blonde hair and big tits are enough to get her over the line in terms of entertainment value - sorry luv, no.

The next series needs to be rethought, and I have a suggestion.  Gag and blindfold four judges, hit them until they squeal, and then get masked contestants to guess the judge.  Superb format.

By the way, Nicola Roberts (who won) was excellent, and Jason Manford (second) was a revelation.

...

15.2.20 Greek Week Madness & Fucking Railways

Most weeks, I have a look through the TV Guide, to see what delights are contained within the glossy pages.  There is little that's ever a delight, as most of the schedules are packed with shite, repeats and nauseating excuses for programmes.  Anyway, I digress.  My keen eye noticed very quickly a rather unexpected pattern, or coincidence.

Saturday 11.35pm and Wednesday 11.00pm (5Star)
Get Him To The Greek
Film (2010)

Sunday 11.30am (ITV)
The Greek Islands With Julia Bradbury
Julia reached the island of Chios

Sunday 7.00pm (Channel 4)
The Great Pottery Throw Down
It's Greek Week, and the contestants are challenged to sculpt a nude statue and throw jugs on the wheel.

Tuesday 10.00pm (Channel 5)
My New Greek Life
Chartered surveyors Alex and Charley open a hotel in Corfu

WTF?

Elsewhere, I cannot help but highlight the railways obsession.

Saturday 8.00pm BBC2
Great American Railroad Journeys

Saturday 11.00pm Yesterday
Chris Tarrant: Extreme Railway Journeys

Sunday 8.00pm Channel 5
Walking Britain's Lost Railways

Mon - Fri 6.30pm BBC2
Great Asian Railway Journeys 

Mon - Fri 3.45pm BBC2
Full Steam Ahead

Wed & Thu 8.00am BBC2
Great British Railway Journeys

Wednsaday 8.00pm BBC4
World's Busiest Railway 2015

Friday 8.00pm Channel 5
The Yorkshire Steam Railway: All Aboard

...

12.2.20 HS2 - Get It Right

I seem to find myself listening regularly to arseholes on the radio who have trouble with the letter 'H'.  So severe is the level of fuckwittery that I feel obliged to highlight the matter now.

Consider the sentences below:

a)   I hate ham sandwiches.

b)   I ate ham sandwiches.

In the first, it is made quite clear that I dislike ham sandwiches, and so it is hardly probably that I would eat them under any circumstances.  In the second sentence, there is no view expressed regarding the liking or disliking of this food, but instead, a simple declaration (though without any notion of when) that I consumed some.  The meanings are so radically different, all because of the 'h' that appears in sentence a) as the second letter, while it is missing in sentence b).

Assuming there is no southern accent in play, where the letter 'h' is commonly dropped, we can distinguish rather easily between the word 'hate' requiring the expulsion of a light breath to capture the 'h', and the word 'ate' that needs no such effort. 

Now we must compare this with the word 'aitch'.  You will notice there is no 'h' at the beginning.  As a result, the pronunciation is identical to that of 'ate' in the first part.  Actually, if the 'ch' sound were added to ate, to form ate-ch it would be the same to the ear.  The eighth letter of the alphabet is H, spelled aitch, so it does not start with a fucking H!

Cunts in the media who cannot pronounce HS2 should NOT be commenting on it, period.  Get off the airwaves and off the TV, and fucking learn how to speak. 

...

12.2.20 Cookery Is Fuckery

The cooking world is now officially full of complete fuckery . . . of the English language.  Yes, I know that "fuckery" is not a real word, but I feel authorised to introduce it as a perfect label for the horrendous utterances of TV cooks, chefs and commentators.

I'll just wash my hands off

We have to roast these off (ref sweet potatoes)

I would recommend washing them off

We're gonna leave these here to rest through

Strain off your butter beans

We'll let it cook down

Let it reduce down

This nonsense is everywhere, and it's as if the food world has insisted on some training for all those associated with food - so that they talk utter shit, and introduce unnecessary prepositions at every opportunity.  The above examples are the tip of the cunting iceberg!

Tom Kerridge recently came out with:

"We sweat it off" and "They've been marinaded" 

Madness indeed.

...

10.2.20 Shocking Radio 4

Unfortunately I have to report that the quality of English on Radio 4 has fallen to an all time low.  That's not to say there has been any decent level of grammar and English in recent years - I have heard so much shit for a long time now - but that I now sense a scaling up of shite.

Sue Perkins this evening talked about "eating a large amount of carrots" with not the slightest hint of embarrassment at delivering such a poor comment.  "Number" rather than "amount" was clearly the proper way of saying what she wanted to say.  During the news, before Sue's arrival, I had to listen to a muppet newsman talking about being "VULNERABLE" but without the first "L".  He also decided that the five-syllable word "TEMPORARILY" was better delivered over the airwaves with just three syllables.  What a stupid cunt, and what a fuck of a pronunciation that caused the word to be unintelligible.

I also heard this evening the woman protester discussing the HS2 project, but without the cunting ability to say "HS2" properly.  This clearly meant she lost all authority, and had no right to even speak on the subject.

Still, Greg Smith, the new MP in Buckinghamshire, was on last week, struggling himself to pronounce "INFRASTRUCTURE" and coming up with "INFASTRUCTURE" as an alternative.  He too stumbled with HS2, alternating between proper pronunciation, and the fucked up "H".

Evan Davis is the most nauseating whisperer on the station, but closely followed by Nick Robinson.  Their delivery styles, whilst different, are a challenge to any human ear and the presence of either is a cause of depression, upon turning the radio on.

The overuse of the word "SO" is enough to cause a car crash, as the listener is struck with radio rage.  "Kind of" and "sort of" litter the air as useless contributors struggle to get shit from their withering brains to the microphone.

Arghhhh.

...

2.2.20 Caprice

Dancing On Ice is certainly the means for Philip Schofield to earn a pretty penny, what with the inflated salary, and the relentless advertising of We Buy Any Car, his association with which will be adding handsomely to his bank balance.  One day he'll actually have to earn a living rather than simply go through the motions, while staring at the autocue.

This week, Caprice Bourret exited the show.  I was already under the impression that she is a spoilt, over indulged person who craves attention.  Worth an estimated $30million, I wondered how she would take to the ice, and not very well has been the outcome.  Citing grievances with her partner, she managed to get him (Hamish) ousted and a new bloke came in.  One week later, he's obviously no good either, as she decides to quit.  She should be sued by ITV for fucking off.  I am sure details of the issues will become known in due course, but I suspect rather strongly that none will exonerate her from being a spoilt brat.  That's hardly a surprise though:

Capricious Adjective  Given to sudden and unaccountable changes of mood or behaviour

Caprice Proper Noun  Woman on DOI who has demonstrated she is capricious

H

This programme should never have been resurrected.  The voice-over man managed to refer to Aitch as Haitch.  It's a sad day when your name is a single letter, and some cunt cannot even pronounce it.

...

2.2.20 Marr-Gate

There are two types of people in this country (aside from the obvious split between 'leavers' and 'remainers').  I refer to the other major split - the classification that arises from the ability to stomach listening to Andrew Marr.

Yes, there are those with a strong stomach who manage okay in hearing the voice of Mr Marr, and those whose constitutions are rather weaker, and find that his voice churns the stomach as readily as fuck!

I am in the latter group, and find my ears rebel, confuse my brain, which in turn sends a signal to start my guts groaning.

...

1.2.20 The Voice Is Awful

I checked in with The Voice UK today, and was suitably horrified.  As ever, the programme was dominated by the judges, the self-obsessed foursome whose collective ambition was to hog more airtime than any of the performers.  I suggest renaming the show The Four Fuckwits.

The first up was an eighteen year-old, who sang nothing special.  Meghan Trainor turned.  Sadly not away from us and off stage, but in her chair.  We then had to witness a sobbing hug before the adverts came on.

Second up was another young woman who wanted to make her parents proud; well there's a novelty, eh?  She wiggled around and shouted, mostly out of tune.  Yet, willie-am and the awful Trainor woman turned around straight away.  Right at the end, Murs and Jones also turned, the parents had a fit, and Willis wailed as normal.  Olly made a joke about Tom not knowing what she was singing, plus he made the compulsory reference to Tom being "Sir Tom Jones".  She went with willie-am.

Another break arrived to provide more by way of entertainment than The Voice.  The music from the Boots advert was great, and this was followed by equally good noise from the McDonald's advert and then Sia singing as Natalie Portman pranced around and fell off a pier.  Even the Coors Light advert was bearable.  Miss Dior gave us another 10-second blast of Sia, and I was thus reminded that some people do actually have a voice and can sing.

Back to the shit, and a bit of shit banter preceded only the third applicant, a 31-year-old named Priscilla, who is apparently a "full time mum".  I was under the impression that any woman with a kid is actually a mum, 24 hours a day...... so full time.  Her speaking voice was hard to listen to, so for her sake I was hoping her singing was rather better.  The face pulling got underway, this time not just by the four coaches, but Priscilla herself.  She wobbled, shouted and sweated through the messy 'song' and offended my ears.  No one turned, thank goodness.  "What happened? What went wrong?" asked Priscilla to the cameraman afterwards.  "You were shit, luv," said I.  The coaches sat analysing things, and talking bollocks.

The fourth woman in a row was another mum, who works, so is she a full time mum?  Anyway, her two kids were sweet enough.  She wailed more than Willis ever could, and sang shit about Jesus and the Holy Ghost.  I couldn't hear all the words, but apparently it's a spiritual world.  All I know is this woman made a complete cunting racket.  Only willie-am turned around - idiot.  "You completely got my attention from the first word you sung," said the illiterate Olly.  No shit, Sherlock - she shouted like fuck!  Tom mumbled "strong" and "powerful", as he's prone to do, then returned to his semi-comatose state.

Dementia Sets In

After the break, the coaches sucked each other off while we listened to sycophancy and cringeworthy crap.  Then a bloke appeared, as contender number five.  A self-indulgent chap bared his soul to us, while bigging himself up, ahead of singing his own song.  He was no James Blunt, but I suspect he aspires to be.  "Take Me Home" was the song, and nobody did.  He left.  "That was a definite mistake," said Tom.  "He was good" said Tom.  "What am I doing here?" said Olly.  The four returned to self congratulation, and story telling.  Name dropping by Tom was up and running.  Olly primed Uncle Tom for a song, and Tom was enticed to sing.  "It's Not Unusual" was delivered to all by Tom.  It's certainly not unusual for us to be served up such a dysfunctional show. 

Wailing Willis announced details of a competition, and how to spend two quid hoping to win.  Break time arrived.  At the hour mark, the sixth singer appeared on stage, and I considered the throughput for a moment.  Five so far had sung for two minutes each, so ten minutes in all.  The other fifty minutes had been consumed by adverts, VTs and the shit exchanged between the coaches.  Criminal.

Number six was a seventeen year old girl, and I hoped the Pastor's daughter was not too churchified, especially as her name was Blessing.  She was good; Olly turned around.  The other three whinged and tried feebly to explain why they didn't turn around.  "You're a baby," said Trainor Woman.

I felt privileged to be served the seventh contender without ITV needing a break first; two singers in one segment of the programme.  Sixteen year old Holly was next up, a Scottish girl who was nervous as fuck.  "Is she going to be a whiner or a shouter?" asked Mrs MWSC.  I offered no opinion.  It turned out to be neither.  She warbled and adopted a silly mumbling voice.  However, she veered off into some shouting a bit.  Trainor Woman and Olly both turned around.  They all marvelled at her being sixteen, as though a sixteen year old has never before sung a fucking song.  Trainor Woman whined, and talked utter shit in her pitch to be her coach.  The Glaswegian picked Trainor Woman, and so began her journey to dementia.

Trainor Woman

After the final ad break, we were set for the eighth person, who turned out to be the second bloke of the evening.  Little Olly and Uncle Tom both turned, and Wailing Willis hugged the family stage-side.  Apparently Trainor "panicked" and should have turned.  It's just pressing a fucking button, dear.  Its been put right in front of you, big and red, so stop bleating - it's the one thing you are there to do, press if you like someone's voice.  He went with Tom.

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